


Death Trap

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Description of potential (if not actual) violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 06:28:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15213182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: In the TV series episode 'Ride of Terror', we saw Colonel Pryor's confrontation with Garrison and the team, especially Chief.  In the story 'Flashback', we heard more of the backstory from Chief, and in the story 'Rescue', it was obvious Meghada had had a prior unpleasant experience with the man herself.  Just when and how had SHE run across Pryor?   Tucked into that span of time in 'Father Knows Best', between her furious ranting at Goniff and his stupidity about a 'pity fuck', and the aggravating visit by Neil Hargroves that led to her and Goniff finally sharing a bed for the first time, there was an event none of them wanted to think about, not even years later - an event that could have led to tragedy.  And that little 'lesson in weaponry' she gave, with the encouragement of Major Kevin Richards, well, Goniff wasn't the only one left with a twitchy stomach!  She eventually learned something else too; doing something the Outlander way?  Sometimes it just doesn't pay in the long run!





	1. Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Meghada prepares for yet another mission, she ponders the level of self-deception she is capable of regarding Garrison's team, specifically one slender Englishman. Soon, however, she is pondering another sort of deception, a deception much more deadly.

Meghada had missed seeing the guys yet again; recently their missions, and her missions seemed to have them crossing the ocean in opposite directions more often than not, with none of the downtimes coinciding. "That's one of the reasons you aren't supposed to get attached while you're under Contract" she reminded herself ruefully; "hard enough to have any time with only one moving part in play; with two, it could be impossible."

She looked up toward the end of town where the Mansion sat, behind its fences and guarded gates; it was empty now, except for the Sergeant Major and his guard contingent, though the team should be on their way back now from Norway, if not already in London, and here she was headed back out for another mission, this time on the coast of France. This one she just didn't like, hadn't liked from the initial briefing, didn't like any better now. 

"Go in by sub, meet a small team of infiltrators posing as a returning Special Forces team. Surprise them, eliminate them with extreme prejudice, with the exception of the leader; try to identify him and bring him back for interrogation if possible." She didn't like going in as an assassin; killing was sometimes, okay, frequently necessary on a mission, far more often than she'd like, but going in with that express intent, that bothered her greatly. She was good at it, especially with her 'fangs', her throwing knife and her up-close blade; but it wasn't something she could do without paying a price.

Still, that team of infiltrators, a three man team she'd been told, had been responsible for the deaths of the Special Forces team they were now impersonating; she hadn't been told which one, but she had worked with many of the teams so it wouldn't be surprising if she'd known them. Probably better she didn't know right now, it would distract her.

At least, thankfully, most thankfully, it wouldn't have been Garrison's crew; they were a four-man team under the leadership of Craig Garrison. Anyway, they should already be back from that last mission in Norway; probably stuck at HQ in debriefing. While there was a possibility they'd had a 'turn-about', reaching their exit and being sent immediately on another mission (yes, it did happen), no one had gotten word to her about that. Yes, she wasn't supposed to know anything about any of the missions other than her own, but there were benefits to having extended family working out of HQ (not that HQ was aware of it, of course); it helped her sleep thru the nights she might otherwise have spent fretting, not that she didn't do enough of that anyway. 

{"Yes,"} she reflected with a wry smile, {"there were reasons we aren't supposed to get attached, but sometimes someone,"} hastily amending her thoughts to {"sometimes certain people just get to you, and you end up caring about them before you realize what's happening."} She snorted in disgusted amusement. "Yeah, lying to someone else is one thing, but it's damn silly trying to lie to yourself, you know." Just precisely when or how the slight Englishman had made his way into her heart, she couldn't have said; she'd looked one day and there he was, firmly entrenched, grinning that knowing grin back at her. 

She know what her dossier said, knew the nickname written in it, 'Ice Queen'. {"Yeah, Ice Queen, that's me!"} She shook her head at the sheer impracticality of it all. She wasn't bothered by his being a con; truth be known, most of the Clan had talents and habits that would get them arrested in most of the so-called civilized world, herself no exception. Just, this wasn't the time, but soon, please, maybe soon; though the Clan didn't specifically forbid entanglements (good grief, how many euphemisms was she going to come up with to avoid what was lingering at the back of her mind??!) during Contract, especially since she was working her way thru her third contract with the Allies (when one two-year contract was the norm, and two running contracts were the most to be taken on by a Clan operative; this war had changed that, along with so much else), they made it clear that attachments made it more difficult to keep your mind on the job at hand. Yes, she knew that quite well, she did. 

Damn, almost six years now, ever since she'd entered the field at fifteen; two months til the current Contract expired. The Clan wouldn't let her take on a fourth contract, they'd already told her that, and she felt a deep relief at that thought. There were other ways to help; she'd find them. Of course, she'd be available whenever the Clan put out a Gathering-In call, when the family had something that needed her skills, but for the most part, she hopefully could be done with this hurtling around Europe at the drop of a hat for whatever Allied Command thought was so urgent.

Shaking her head again, throwing her gear into the jeep, she headed out to her departure point and the uncomfortable journey under the sea to the beach where she'd be landed. From there to the nearby caves, to meet and deal with the infiltrators, then head up the coast to meet with the Resistance fighters who would handle her extraction and return to England.

Damp, chilled and slightly queasy (she wasn't overly fond of sea travel, especially in a submarine that reeked of spent fuel and too many bodies confined in too small a space), she paused to shift her gear to her back and mentally prepare herself for the task at hand. The caves should only be a couple of miles inland; she'd hide her pack once she spotted the right area, probably when she located their sentry. Hide the pack, check her arm sheaths, decide whether the lightweight throwing knife on her left arm would be better, or whether she'd need to rely on the heavier, even more deadly (if that were possible) shonra blade, resting in its place along her right forearm. Using the throwing blade meant she could work at a distance, but the sound of a falling body could alert the others inside the cave. There was only a sliver of moon tonight too, making it questionable whether visibility would be sufficient to work at a distance; her night vision was excellent, but even she had her limitations. Well, she'd make a final determination when she had her target in sight.

There, up ahead, at the base of the rocks outside that farthest cave opening, there she saw him, or his partial outline anyway, just a black against black shadow, standing slightly sideways, looking back and forth, watching the trees, the cliffs. Thoughts of her Englishman crossed her mind, and she shook herself impatiently; this was stupid, you didn't think about personal things at a time like this. She must have it bad, she thought to herself, she could almost feel him near her, that 'touch that wasn't a touch' that she knew was him.

Pulling her mind back to the job at hand, she slid her pack into a crevice, and assessed the situation. No, not enough moonlight to be sure of the throwing knife, and he was close enough to the mouth of the cave that a falling body would bringing everyone spilling out; she'd prefer to take them one by one, having more time to determine which was the leader she was supposed to bring back with her. It would have to be the infighting blade, and she released the sheath, letting the long blade drop into position, the sharpened side up, rounded end of the hilt braced at the heel of her right hand, fingers curling upward like a claw to grip the special indentations along the hilt. With this blade, you didn't use the wrist to apply the force, you used the whole arm, shoulder and the muscles of the upper back; the sheer strength of the blow was astonishing, as was the inevitable damage it caused. Slowly she crept forward, moving from shadow to shadow, pausing when the sentry turned his head in her direction, moving again when he looked elsewhere. Again, that 'touch that wasn't a touch' and she forced it aside, cursing her wayward mind. 

Finally, she was in position, only a few feet away; checked once again her grip on her blade, checked her footing before she made the final lunge forward. As she leaned into the forward movement, as her feet left the ground, committing her to this strike, she caught one clear glimpse of her intended victim, and her mind stuttered! "Goniff!," she gasped aloud. Desperately she tried to slow her momentum, knowing it was too late for that. She tried to turn the knife, sick with the fear that there wasn't enough room for her to possibly miss gutting him. Frantically, she shifted her left arm, the arm she had in position to bend the sentry backwards to open his torso for a deeper blow; shifted the arm to instead hit him hard in the right shoulder, throwing him to his left into the cliff face. At the same time she threw herself to her left, feeling the blade of the knife cut across her own stomach and the tendons in her right wrist twist and burn; there simply hadn't been enough room for the blade to clear both their bodies, and her decision had been no decision at all. She'd shed her own blood any day before she shed a drop of his. {"Sweet Mother, how did this happen???"}


	2. Awareness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Garrison and Meghada compare notes, they become increasingly aware that they've been set up, either singly or jointly. That is disconcerting enough for the American Lieutenant. However, soon his eyes are opened in another direction, and that was just as disconcerting. He'd considered nipping this in the bud earlier on, still had it in his mind as an option; now, it was obvious he'd left it far too long, it was now far too late for that. He was left wondering how others back in the village would react when they realized the truth. Then second-guessing himself, he wondered if everyone else HAD seen the reality and HE was the one lagging behind.

Inside the cave Garrison and his team had been trying to get some sleep; it had been a long mission in Norway, then getting back to England, and being turned right around for another here on the coast of France - no downtime, not even going back to the Mansion for a night's rest and fresh gear. He looked around; they were all exhausted, too liable to make dangerous mistakes; somehow, he was going to have to convince HQ to give them a break when this one was over. Here, they were to await a contact from the Underground, who was to give them vital information they were to convey to HQ. Simple, yeah, they were all supposed to be simple; funny that they never were. The Underground contact was supposed to have been here yesterday, but they were told he might be delayed; they were supposed to wait here for at least three days pending his arrival. They had been warned in their briefing of the presence of collaborators in the area, that they'd have to be on guard, not to take any chances, be prepared to react at a split-second's notice. Time dragged, and they were trying to get what rest they could, alternating four hour sentry shifts. Goniff was up now, with Casino to follow in another hour's time. 

The sudden activity, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, the clatter of Goniff's gun hitting the rocks, brought everyone to their feet in a rush. Garrison headed to the mouth of the cave, revolver at the ready, with Chief at his right hand, ready to release his knife. Casino and Actor ranged slightly behind, slightly to the outside, together forming a wedge. They reached the opening, just as Goniff and a black-clad figure tumbled inside. Goniff was listing to the left, his right arm outstretched toward Garrison, palm outwards, "No, Warden! It's alright, it's Meghada!" Their mouths opened in shock as they recognized Meghada, now fully as pale as Goniff was naturally, long blade held loosely in one hand, other hand clutched tightly over her abdomen.

"Casino, watch the front," Garrison barked as he holstered his pistol and came toward the two quickly. The others surged forward, but came to a halt as the woman now dropped to her knees on the ground, inhaled sharply, and sounds start spewing forth from her mouth - at first Actor thought she was simply incoherent, til he realized that he had indeed been right about her - English was NOT her primary language. To curse that long, that fervently, without obvious repetition, this was her native tongue, whatever it might be; and there was no doubt in his mind, in any of their minds, that what they were hearing was indeed cursing, bitter, heartfelt, angry cursing. Despite the situation, there was some small degree of amusement to be had in the usually calm, relaxed, in control woman really letting loose that way, thought Casino. {"Boy, she just keeps coming up with the surprises."}

Actor knelt to check on Goniff, who was sprawled, leaning back against the cave wall, still rubbing his shoulder, but now with a small grin on his face as he listened to the redhead rail forth, almost hissing in her rage. At least he wasn't the target, he thought gratefully. He didn't know why or how she was here, but from what he was hearing in her voice, even if he couldn't understand the words, someone was in for a whole lot of grief once she got herself sorted out. {"Hope I'm there ta watch the show; should be somethin' to see," he thought to himself.}

Satisfied that Goniff was okay, if bruised, Actor made his way to Meghada, who was finally slowing down. She still knelt in the same spot, but was breathing more slowly. Her knife was loose in her grasp, the point dragging in the dirt, blood covering the blade. He frowned; Goniff hadn't been cut, so where had the blood come from? 

Chief approached from the side and crouched in front of her. "If you let me take the blade, I'll clean it for you," he offered quietly. That was risky, he knew; you cleaned your own blade, you didn't want someone else touching it, but he had a feeling she wasn't able to do that right now. Her eyes met his for a long moment, then she nodded, and he very carefully drew the big knife away, noting the way her fingers trembled. Looking up at Actor, he said "better check her wrist; looks like she's cut too, across the front, at her waist."

Actor nodded, and as Chief moved away, Actor took his place. He too was careful, moving slowly; although the woman had never raised a hand to any of them, except in jest or in showing them some infighting technique, he had some inkling from personal experience - not just her dossier - of just how dangerous she could be, and he wasn't sure just how much in control she was right now.

Chief brought up the small med kit, and helped as the long cut across her stomach was taped and bandaged. Luckily the cut was fairly shallow, at least at the left side, though it deepened and widened at the right; {"makes sense, it was the full blade length; she was pulling back and away with her right hand, widest portion of the blade to the right; there's a lot of bruising, but it could have been a hell of a lot worse."} He wasn't concerned, as Actor had been, that Meghada could pose some danger. He wasn't sure what had happened out there or why, but he knew it couldn't have been a deliberate knowing attack, not against one of the team, certainly not against the Englishman. 

"Chiefy, sit her alongside 'ere," came from Goniff, and the young man urged her over to the cave wall. As she settled, the woman turned and looked over, anxious brown eyes meeting concerned blue ones, "Goniff, I'm sorry - I would never have. . ."

Goniff stopped her with "shssh, enuf a that, you and I both know that, don't want your apologies; 'ere, sit back." He smiled reassuringly, and she gave a relieved sigh, and arched her back, stretched her neck from side to side, trying to release some of the pent up tension. He moved his hand to massage, to ease the muscles there, and she refrained with great effort from a moan of relief, and a moan of, well, perhaps something other than relief. "You just rest a bit, and tell us what's goin on, eh?"

By now Garrison, who'd been feeling a little left out of the picture, decided that since he was supposed to be in command, he might as well start acting like it. Somehow anytime Meghada was around, things just got a bit off kilter, he thought. Not wanting to crowd her, he stayed where he was along the opposite side of the narrow cave, but demanded harshly, "just what the hell is all this about? What are you doing here and just what were you trying to accomplish with that stunt outside?"

Her head slowly raised, and she gave him a long considering look, her eyes seeming to take on an odd sort of glittering in the dim light; the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he got the feeling he maybe should ease off just a bit, especially since the look he was getting from Casino was pretty much telling him he was being an ass; mostly Actor and Chief had a neutral expression, but that was an unfamiliar and very icy look he was getting from Goniff. He wasn't sure which direction they might turn if he kept with the rough tone. No, his backing off had nothing to do with the fact that, for just a minute there, he felt a bit like he was staring into the eyes of a large predator, one that was considering making him her next meal. Not at all.

.

Finally, slowly, as if talking hurt, "that depends, Lieutenant, on whether you believe in coincidences. Either we have a coincidence of cosmic proportion going on here, or we've been set up - my enemies or yours, I don't know. Won't be the first time for me, don't know about you. But it appears, at least on the surface, as if I was sent to eliminate you and your team, or as many as I could, or to get taken down myself." That got a wide-eyed look from the team members.

"Alright, Meghada, you tell me your mission, I'll tell you ours, and we'll see if we can put the pieces together enough to make some sense out of all this," he said in an exasperated tone, trying to put aside the pity he felt for the bruised look in her eyes.

As she related the details of her mission, and he related theirs, he came swiftly to the realization that she had to be right; no way could this be coincidence. But what a plan! Who would be willing to put this much effort and coordination, involve all the resources that had to be accessed to make this come together? Were they all supposed to end up dead, or was a partial body count enough? Who hated them that much, and was it just his team that was the target, or was the independent agent facing him also a target, not just a means to an end? He thought back over the missions they'd had in the past, the ones he had the feeling someone was acting against their best interests, the ones where he knew for a fact someone had it in for them; adding that to the details of the two missions Meghada said had been crossed for her, he had to wonder {"do we share any of the SAME enemies?"}

They all settled back to consider, turning ideas over in their heads. Garrison realized they all needed sleep and suggested that Casino stand guard and everyone else try to rest, but Chief countered that idea.

"Would feel better if we shifted camp, now while it's still dark, maybe to that overhang up about a hundred yards, just in case anyone else comes calling."

Though this cave was a snug place, Garrison saw the wisdom of that, seeing how complicated things had become, and they got their packs together and moved out. He made sure the newcomer was in the center of the group, well surrounded; he made out that it was for her protection since she'd been injured, but he saw the knowing glances that came his way, and he knew he hadn't fooled anyone. Yes, he had noticed the others seemed okay with her, but there was just too much shit happening; so maybe he wasn't playing as nice as he could have, but they could all just deal with it.

They waited the extra day in the shelter of the overhang, waiting just in case that part of Garrison's mission on the Underground information was real, but no one was really surprised when no one showed. Neither of the extraction routes held much appeal; either or both could be dangerous, considering everything else that had happened. Meghada suggested that the following night they proceed down the coast where she had contacts in a Resistance group not affiliated with HQ in any way, and Garrison agreed that would be best. They spent that last day resting, still alternating guard details, trying to occupy their minds, impatient at the delay. They wanted to get back, find out who the hell had set them up, and deal with it once and for all. 

Chief was sentry, and the rest were in whatever position they could find to get comfortable in the rocky area. It was really too small for all of them, they were pretty bunched up, but it was the best and safest place available.

Actor raised an amused eyebrow when he saw Goniff take a long draw on his ever-present cigarette and then push it over to Meghada, who was resting at his side with her back against his bent knee. Had he forgotten that the woman didn't smoke? Surely not, she'd teased him about 'those infernal cigarettes' often enough. Actor was prepared for a smart remark, and waited to be amused, as did the rest when they saw the cigarette being offered.

The redhead looked surprised, and shook her head, opening her mouth to speak, only to be cut off with, not a coaxing mischievious offer, but a slightly impatient "now look. Know you don't like the taste of beer, even first-hand, so I can put up with switchin' over or maybe having a shot of somethin' else after the beer to 'elp drown out the taste; but I ain't likely to give these up, so you need to learn to smoke; leastwise enough so that the taste don't bother you, right?"

Everyone froze, eyes widening as they thought about, then realized what he was saying and winced at how she was likely to react. Everyone knew, hell, everyone in the Special Forces groups she'd worked with, and the guys in the village, and many from the Base knew NO ONE made a move on this one, not if he wanted to keep standing upright. And though they knew these two were friends, maybe headed to something more than that, this wasn't even what you'd call a move, just a flat out declaration, as if it was an accomplished fact, like she had no say in the matter.

Casino snickered, waiting for his buddy to be handed his head, and then gaped when, after a slight pause, he heard a small, deep chuckle from her, followed by "maybe I'm just tired, but that actually makes sense," taking the cigarette from his fingers and taking a cautious drag, then another. She handed it back, with a slight smile, and settled back against him, wiggling even closer, with a long drawn out sigh that seemed to come from deep within her, with his hand now resting at the nap of her neck, stroking it gently. Garrison and Actor stared at each other in astonishment, Casino was still wondering how THAT had happened, though Chief wouldn't be too surprised when he heard about it. 

Garrison took a long look around; it was time to rouse everyone, get them moving out along the route decided on. Glancing over at Goniff and Meghada, he again wondered just what signals he'd missed, why he hadn't seen this coming, or at least, coming this fast. Even the visit from her father Garrison had thought was a misjudgement on the man's part, and all the lecturing from Richards as well - just the two men jumping to unwarranted conclusions. Their odd friendship he'd know about, accepted the very real connection, but THIS? 

Goniff was half sitting, half sprawling, against the rocks to the side, one leg outstretched, other knee bent. The woman was dozing, curled to one side, head resting on his thigh; the pickpocket was running his fingers through the red frenzy of her hair, which he had released from its tight braid sometime during the past few hours. Garrison had never seen her with her hair loose like that; how'd she gotten so much hair confined in that one thick braid, he couldn't imagine. Feeling Garrison's eyes on him, the Englishman looked up and tilted his head back in calm, steady challenge, waiting. Craig smiled a little, shook his head and held up this hands in the universal sign of surrender. Anyone fool enough to think the man wasn't capable of being dangerous just wasn't paying attention; Garrison had come to realize that slowly but surely, though he wasn't sure whether the others had or not. Sometimes he wondered why that didn't bother him, at least not in the general sense of the word, not wanting to think of how it bothered him, or at least stirred him, on a totally different level. Yes, Goniff hid it well under that cheeky, amiable facade, but Garrison knew this wasn't something anyone should be bracing him on, and Garrison didn't intend to. 

Everyone got to their feet, grabbing their packs and prepared to move out, Meghada rapidly rebraiding her hair as she walked, giving Goniff a mock glare as she did so; she MUST have been tired, she hadn't felt him undoing it. Inside she smiled at the thought, {"rather sorry I missed that, I think I'd have enjoyed it."}. Garrison caught that tiny smile though, reading it for what it was, and gave a subdued chuckle. He grinned to himself, picturing the scene at The Doves when the locals figured this one out, though he did spare a thought for whether HE was the only one for whom this was a surprise. Well, other than Casino. His expression became grim again, as he thought about the enemy waiting for them at home..


	3. Taking Stock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in England, Garrison and the guys go their way - to a skeptical, even hostile debriefing and a quick return to a Mansion now under outside control - while Meghada goes hers, to a tiny safehouse to regroup and start the search for answers before the shit really hits the fan. Well, answers, along with some coffee less than several years on the shelf. Oh, and a hair brush. Definitely a hair brush!

They had arrived back in England, via the alternate route, only to be met with icy disdain by the American major doing the debriefing. WHY did they not have the information they had been sent for - was Garrison SURE they had waited the full three days for the contact before breaking and running for home - WHY did they not use the scheduled exit - on and on, with the major not listening to any of the responses being made.

It had been decided on the way back to separate before getting in contact with HQ, Meghada going her own way to try and get what information she could on the setup through her own contacts; she had no intention of contacting the group that had sent her out on this last mission, not yet anyway. As an independent, running a solo operation, her failure to return would be noted, but other than eventually notifying her Clan if she never turned up, her disappearance would just be listed as fortunes of war. Of course, no one would have mentioned her or her assignment or probable fate to Garrison; although they were living in the same small town, he wasn't supposed to know she was an agent. He'd not said anything in the debriefing about the crossed missions, if indeed that's what they were; he wanted to give her time to see what she could discover.

The major ordered them back to the Mansion, in fact, confining them all, including the Lieutenant, to quarters until otherwise notified. This wasn't a normal reaction by the Brass, even after a mission failed; it wasn't as if anything actually went wrong (at least as far as they could have told from what Garrison told them in the debriefing), the contact just hadn't shown up. There was no logical reason for this extreme reaction, and that in itself was suspicious. Even more suspicious was the presence of new guards at the Mansion, replacing the familiar faces the guys knew and were on good terms with; only the Sergeant Major remained, and he was on edge and ill at ease with the situation.

He confined to Garrison, "better to warn you, sir. The guards, they're not like the other lads, and they 'ave orders that anyone trying to leave are to be stopped at any cost; they won't 'esitate to shoot. They're answering to someone other than me, and they're accepting only the basic orders from me. They'll not 'eed me if anything goes amiss. The locals have been warned as well; anyone trying to come in without authorizations are going to find themselves in a real bind."

Knowing his guys, Craig made a point of sitting down with them and telling them in no uncertain terms that, for now, there was to be no attempt to leave. He put them to work reviewing their old missions, making note of any that had seemed off, like they could have been set up in any way. Another list, that of those individuals they felt most likely to dislike them enough to want them out of the picture evolved, and they went thru it trying to determine who had the means and resources, as well as the animosity for a caper of this magnitude. They were kept busy with this, but it chafed not being able to be out trying to dig up more info.

Garrison had started to call some contacts in London, but luckily had Casino check the phones first; they had been bugged. After discovering that, he had him check for any evidence the rooms might have been wired; luckily, the Common Room was clear, though his own office wasn't so. They left the wire and the bugs, just in case they needed to give out misleading information, but were careful not to discuss anything important, especially about this current situation, where they could be overheard. Nothing to do but wait, but waiting was not easy.

Meanwhile, Meghada had disappeared into the streets of London, heading to one of the Clan safe houses, one that hadn't been used in so long she was surprised she had even remembered it, it being hardly more than a large closet. While worried about the guys, she knew that their best chance for coming out of this unscathed was for her to get to the bottom of this mess; she had the freedom and mobility they didn't have, resources they didn't have, as well.

Accordingly, after starting a pot of really old, really stale coffee left behind the drop down counter that served as a kitchen who knows HOW long ago, she fired up the small but powerful radio hidden behind the panels of the wall. Using the emergency code to reach out to her family, she relayed all the information she had to the operative currently manning that listening post, actually one of her numerous cousins. With a promise of a prompt reply, she at last discarded her filthy clothes and took a quick shower, wrinkling her nose at the rusty water that ran from the pipes before finally clearing, washing her hair and pulling it back with a cord stolen from the filthy windowblind to let it dry, letting the curls run wild for lack of a brush.

"Look like a damned curly hamster," she groaned, shaking her head at the areole surrounding her head, though she remembered with warm amusement waking up with her hair spread out over his lap, and nimble fingers tracing the individual curls; she tried not to remember the warmth of his thigh under her cheek, the press of his body against her head, that was just too distracting for right now. She wrapped herself in a slightly musty cotton sheet and washed her clothes out in the sink as best she could, hanging them to dry, knowing she'd have to put them on again whether she wanted to or not. She shook her head at the compactness of the safe house; the shower, sink and toilet were in one corner of the miniscule single room, concealed behind a long curtain, and were the tiniest she'd ever had the agony of trying to use. Anyone larger than herself would have found themself occupying more than one of those spaces while trying to use the the others! 

Going thru the rest of the protocol, she checked and cleaned her weapons, and finally sat down with her cup of what was supposed to be coffee. Not til then did she let herself think about the others. She knew better than call the Mansion; the Brass didn't know about their connection, her not counting Richards in that category, and she didn't want to give them any inkling. She did put in a call, from the non-traceable phone, to The Doves, giving a relay number to Lou, asking him to have any of the team or the Sergeant Major to give her a call; Lou had agreed, but told her he hadn't seen any of them, and that the Mansion was on lockdown by the military. Now that did NOT sound good; she only hoped the guys would keep it together and not do anything that made the situation worse.


	4. A Complete Analysis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a rather amazing, when you got right down to it, the number of people the team had managed to piss off. The question now was, which one of those had targeted them this time? Or was it someone new, someone not even on their list? While the guys are busy following that trail, Meghada is doing some tracking of her own - not just tracking a snake, but tracking expenses as well. Now, just to get help from a friendly ally.

Garrison and the team had come up empty-handed; actually, they had come up with too many individuals on the list of those who disliked them, but none of them seemed to have the pull or the resources to have pulled this off. Yes, there had been several incidents in the past where missions had possibly been compromised from within, but again, the people connected with the missions and the people on the list didn't overlap much, and the few that did, well there just wasn't any logic to any involvement on their part. Casino probably had the right of it. "Don't know that there needs to be any logic, Warden, just someone pissed off enough, with enough pull, and crazy enough to actually come up with a screwy plan like this. Ain't gonna be easy figuring it out if that's the case."

Three days had passed, and the tension inside the Mansion kept growing; Garrison himself had approached the gate earlier in the day, just to test the situation, only be turned back with an amused disrespect he was not accustomed to being on the receiving end of, at least not by rank and file soldiers. Phone calls had stopped coming in, being blocked at the main station outside the grounds.

"Finally! Finally some answers, but what the hell?? What's with this guy, is he just freaking nuts or what?" Meghada went over the information she'd received from her family yet again. Yes, this Colonel had a real hate on for Garrison and the team; had tried repeatedly to make trouble for them. She hadn't heard all the stories of their past missions, so the name wasn't familiar, 'Colonel Pryor', an American officer, linked with Intelligence, but his file showed he'd been the Warden at Statenville Prison, and Chief's file showed he'd spent a year there while Pryor was in charge. Cross referencing the material given to her by a cousin, who shouldn't even know this stuff existed much less discuss it with her, she finally made the connection to a mission within the past year, where the team had been sent in to pull Pryor out of a German prisoner of war camp. 

From what she'd found out, he'd come back spouting vitriol but hadn't gotten very far with it. Why his rescue wouldn't have made him grateful, instead of arranging this ambush she didn't know, and frankly didn't really care. He was with Intelligence but after working with Allied Intelligence for almost six years, she was beginning to doubt seriously that the title of the department was truly in line with its function or the basic capabilities of the individuals involved, but that was another matter. Now, she just had to pull together all the details, the ins and outs that would convince the Big Brass that this insane plot really existed, and figure out how to make it all work out right. 

First goal was to get the guys out of trouble; second goal was to finish Pryor, once and for all, though unfortunately, being under Contract to the Outlanders limited her options somewhat. She'd never been one for all that nonsense the outside world prattled about vengeance and revenge, that it was more honorable to rise above it, that it was better to forgive, all that shit. She was Clan - vengeance and revenge, that was what you owed your family, your friends when they were betrayed. And not some paltry halfway measure either; it seemed obvious to her that you either left a snake strictly alone or you finished it once and for all, you didn't leave it to slither up behind you some dark night. Still, she had to make some accommodations while she was still under Contract, some, and that troubled her a great deal, she certainly didn't like it, and she mistrusted the results, but she'd try to comply. But there was a limit.

The intelligence she was getting about the situation at the village and the Mansion was disturbing, and she knew she had to move quickly to get this situation under control, now that she had something to go on. A quick call was made to another cousin, who relayed it on thru another couple of layers; the result was the arrival at a separate safe house of one Major Kevin Richards. This safehouse was also tiny flat a few miles away, tiny but at least capable of allowing two adults enough room to sit and have a discussion, unlike the one she was staying at, where to accomplish that, one of them would have to have used the toilet as a perch and she just couldn't quite see that happening. She was sure Kevin's dignity just wouldn't stand, ah SIT, for that!

Major Richards, who she'd worked with and who had been helpful to her in the past, who was well known and accepted by her family, if with some wry amusement, had developed a certain healthy respect for Garrison and his team - he was an ally, as long as she was careful not to get him in over his terribly straight-laced and upright head. Meghada met him and quickly laid out the situation; he was frankly incredulous at first, but Meghada had her own reputation, and he had been involved in more than a few of her missions. He knew to discount her was foolish, so he sat back and listened, asking questions, becoming more and more disquieted at the answers he was given. When she brought him up to date on the situation with the team, he frowned, considered, and asked "and what do you need from me?" 

Her answer made him start and stare, then a slow grin reluctantly crossed his face. "It should be quite a show; whether it works will depend on how much pull you have with the higher ups. Pryor is highly valued, you know, a bulldog of sorts. They are prone to look at the bottom line."

She shot back, "then the higher ups need to get their heads out of their asses, and take another look at their precious 'bottom line'! Garrison and his team have proved their value time and time again; Pryor has now proved he is a certifiable nutcase, and an expensive one!" She pulled out the worksheets she'd spent much of her waiting time developing over the past couple of days; this was one of her odder amusements, one she got teased about by her siblings. "They want to look at the bottom line, fine. Look at what this guy cost the war effort with this scheme. Even if you only assess a dollar value to the human element involved based on their training costs, that includes Garrison - a West Point Lieutenant, his team of four, the crew of the sub that made three unnecessary trips across the Channel, and the small amount of special training you gave me. Add to that the compensation they'd have had to pay to the Clan if I ended up dead - not a lot, but worth figuring in. Throw in the miscellaneous cost of . . ."

And he stopped her with a grin, "yes, yes, you probably have the exact cost of the fuel used for those trips by the sub and a lot more, don't you? Probably down to the base cost of the K-rations! I remember you could tabulate figures with the best, an odd talent that doesn't seem to go along with your other talents, but there it is. Alright, I know who to take this to; hopefully I can convince them to leave the rest of this in my hands. Who do you have in mind on your side?"

She told them the name of the military lawyer she'd been in contact with, and what charges Colonel Pryor could possibly be charged with. "Wait til you hear from me. I don't want us working at cross purposes," and hoped that nod meant she agreed, not that she was just anxious for him to be off and gone so she could work some new angle of her own. With her, with any of the sisters, that was always a strong possibility.


	5. The Game's Afoot!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short rations - no, make that NO rations. Trigger-happy guards replacing the ones they knew and had an understanding with. No word from Meghada. Could the day get any worse? Well, the announcement of yet another debriefing for Lieutenant Garrison, and the unexpected appearance of an old enemy, one smiling with smug satisfaction, probably didn't improve the chances. Or did it?

The day had not started well; the larder was pretty well empty again, and Sergeant Major had had to smuggle in enough rations to fit out a meager breakfast. Without Meghada, rations were all they had, but now even those were gone, and they could just imagine the response they'd get if they made a request thru channels.

"What, they just gonna starve us?" For a change, the query about food had not come from the ever-hungry Goniff, but from Casino.

"Don't worry, there's the garden we can raid, and maybe I can scare up a couple of rabbits, can sneak over to the cottage and see what Meghada has on hand," came from Chief, but Garrison put a quick stop to the idea of the man doing any hunting, or venturing off the grounds.

"The garden, yes, see what's out there, but these guards would love to have any excuse to take a shot at us; I don't want you giving them that excuse, Chief."

"Wish we knew what was going on out there, how 'Gaida is," chimed Goniff. He'd been way too quiet the past couple of days, showing them just how worried he was. If he wasn't chattering about something, it had to be bad, and him not griping about the lack of food, well . . . "Don't even know WHERE she is! What if the brass's got 'er stashed away somewhere?"

Chief answered him back, "don't think they could stash the Dragon anywhere she didn't want to be stashed, not for long, Goniff. We just have to wait it out." Garrison couldn't think of anything positive to add to that, and didn't try.

At ten o'clock he got a call that he was to be in his office at Noon sharp; that another debriefing would be held, in the presence of Military Intelligence officers and a military lawyer; he was to be there, his men were strictly NOT to be there, they were to remain in quarters. {"At least there's some action, but it doesn't sound good. Now just to break the news to the guys, and convince them they have to stay put!"}.

He was worried about himself only as an afterthought, but he was deeply concerned about the team. There were just too many people eager to send them back to their prison cells; they didn't deserve that; they had earned more than that, but what could he do about it now? He stayed in the Common Room til thirty minutes before the hour, trying to keep his men as calm as possible; he heaved a deep sigh and took a long look around the room, making direct eye-to-eye contact with each man and giving a nod to each, knowing there was a chance he'd be arrested after this debriefing and might not see them again any time soon, before making his way down the stairs to his office.

"Well, we gonna just sit here an do nothin?" spouted Casino.

"No," said Actor, "we are going to use that intercom you so thoughtfully rigged to listen in on this meeting. At least we'll know what is happening, can be prepared."

Casino opened the case to the intercom, making the connections that let them eavesdrop in the Lieutenant's office. Done originally as a prank, now it was going to prove really valuable. At least they would know, wouldn't have to wait and sweat it out.

 

The Sergeant Major was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs with a small tray. Craig looked at the sandwich and cup of coffee with a puzzled frown; where had that come from? He knew the coffee had all been used up yesterday, and had been so weak you could read through it, and breakfast had used the last of the rations. And that sandwich, thick ham, sharp cheese, crusty bread - that was NOT rations!

"Thought you'd like to know, Sir, those new guards? They've all been withdrawn and the old contingent is back in place. If the lads 'ave to leave 'ere, shall we say, quick and quiet like, I'd think there's no danger of them being shot. Also, a shipment arrived about an 'our ago; what Miss O'Donnell calls 'shares' - food and medical supplies. There seemed to be no problem with them getting thru the gate. I've made up sandwiches and coffee to take upstairs to tide them over til I get something more substantial prepared. You get yourself around this bit now, should just 'ave time if you 'urry, before that lot start arriving, and you'll do better for 'aving something decent in your stomach. Just thought you might want to know that things seem like they might be taking a bit of a turn, before you go in there for your meeting."

With a satisfied smirk, the Brit hurried back to get the food and coffee to take upstairs. Craig stared after him, {"he's turning into as much of a mother hen as Goniff."}

Craig stood in place, frowning, once again feeling like he'd lost grasp of the moment. He didn't understand, and he couldn't bring himself to hope. Quickly he finished the sandwich, {"no, NOT rations!"}, licking the savory mustard from his lips, and drained the last of the coffee that actually tasted like coffee; shaking his head, he entered his office slowly, crossed to his desk, and cleared all the paperwork. He doubted he'd be the one at the desk, so he didn't bother sitting there, just stood over by the maps; he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of telling him to move.

He heard the Sergeant Major open the front door, heard the footsteps of several people headed his way, and he grimly awaited his visitors. He was more than surprised to tally them as they crossed the threshold: Major Richards, Meghada, an unknown Colonel, and . . . Colonel Pryor!! {"What the hell?"}, he thought, and then it started to make some degree of sense; yes, Pryor DID hate them all enough to make this happen, though he didn't know if Pryor had issues with the female operative specifically or just by association, or if her involvement was just luck of the draw. With a rising sense of impending disaster, he saluted and greeted the officers by name, aimed a quizzical glance at Meghada (remembering just in time he was only supposed to know her as a local resident) and the stranger.

Colonel Pryor had a nasty, half smile on his face as he said, "Garrison, I told you we'd meet again. Major Richards and Colonel Cartwright asked me here. Seems I'm to give them my opinion of you and your team, your value to the war effort, and I told them I'd be more than pleased to do just that." His face broke into a full fledged grin, albeit a particularly nasty one.

Upstairs the guys had accepted the food and coffee with loudly voiced approval, but were glad when the Sergeant Major hurried back out again. They'd gotten the intercom up and running again, the food was being devoured, but they were each intent on the voices coming from the small metal grill in the wall.

"Pryor!"

"That rat?"

"He tried to finish us once before, why'd Major Richards ever ask his opinion?"

"We're sunk!" Voices filled the Common Room, and looks of anger and dismay filled every face.


	6. A Lesson in Weaponry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Major Richards was firmly in favor of learning new things that might prove helpful, that little lesson in weaponry, complete with visuals, might have been more than he had bargained for. Sergeant Major Rawlins certainly felt that way, and Garrison and the guys weren't far behind him in that. Seems it wasn't only Goniff who had a twitchy stomach! And as for Meghada, although she'd done what she felt she HAD to do, deal with this by Outlander means (well, somewhat), being still under Contract, the day would come when she'd sincerely wonder if that had been the best option after all.

Major Richards spoke, "Actually, Colonel Pryor, that's not exactly the purpose of your presence here today. You are here to give answer to certain accusations that have been made against you, concerning two recent missions, one assigned to Lieutenant Garrison and his team, the other assigned to a contract agent, Meghada O'Donnell. Meghada O'Donnell is here to present evidence, Lieutant Garrison will answer questions as well, and Colonel Cartwright is here to present you with the formal charges, should we decide the evidence and your replies warrant that charges be placed."

"Meghada? She's down there??" Faces were eagerly expectant; Chief and Goniff, who knew and understood the Dragon perhaps the best, exchanged satisfied nods and cold smiles of vengeful anticipation.

 

Major Richards, seated at the desk, opened a file from in front of him and glanced down. Colonel Pryor bridled up, snorting and starting to bluster.

"That's ludicrous; other than that comedy act when they interfered with my plans to escape from that prisoner of war camp, damned near poisoned me, I've had nothing to do with any missions for either Garrison's hoods or that barbarian female! What is that whore supposed to be testifying to, which of those con's she's . . ."

He stopped only because Garrison, the Sergeant Major and the Major all were right in front of him, facing him down, the other officer just watching with a disinterested air about him.

"I'm leaving; I've had enough of this . . ."

The Sergeant Major moved back to stand in front of the closed door, and Major Richards calmly but firmly brought order back to the room. Fact after fact was recited; deposition after deposition cited, confirming that Pryor had indeed arranged for both missions via go-betweens, with their potentially catastrophic results; evidence, evidence upon evidence laid out, calmly and smoothly, despite frequent outraged outbursts and protestations from the stocky Pryor. 

Finally, Major Richards called on Meghada to describe the actions of that night outside the cave; she calmly and briefly described her actions, the aborted attack, and recognition of and by the team, the subsequent journey home and search for the facts leading up to this inquiry. As Pryor sneered at her, as she remembered the horror of what might have been, what would haunt her dreams into the future, Meghada realized she couldn't handle this quite like she'd anticipated; there had to be more, there were things Pryor had to hear and understand; maybe she could give him something to dream about too. Clan honor dictated that, the members of Garrison's team deserved that, her personal fury demanded it. 

Accordingly, she quickly turned to Major Richards and apologized, "Sir, I must apologize; I forgot one of the first things you taught me, that visuals were essential to any mission or debriefing. I think it's an officer thing; Lieutenant Garrison, I understand, is a dab hand at it even with a stick and a patch of dirt."

The cons upstairs looked at each other and laughed. "Yeah, ain't he just."

Major Richards, in the office below, suppressed an amused smile. He then frowned thoughtfully at the young woman standing in front of him. He didn't recall teaching her about visuals, he certainly wasn't accustomed to this level of formality from her, but something about the tension in her eyes, her clinched jaw and shallow breathing told him it might be best to play along. He nodded. "Yes, I'm glad you remembered that. Please give us the visuals, if you would.

Truly, if Meghada had known about the jimmied intercom, she would have foregone this demonstration, at least for now. She had purposely not outlined any of this to the guys, and never intended to. But she didn't know they were listening, and they possibly learned more than they ever wanted to know about what might have happened that night, more about her than they might be comfortable knowing. 

"With your permission, Sir."

Meghada removed her jacket. Even the Colonel, the lawyer type, was startled to see the armament there had been no prior evidence of - knives, revolver. They'd never know, probably, that that wasn't the extent of it.

"This on my left arm, that's my throwing blade - lightweight, deadly, but relatively neat, no entry wound to speak of. Can't use it effectively for close work, though; the blade tends to snap if you twist it after it penetrates bone or heavy muscle, and you'd have to be precise in your aim to get the job done. Here, on my right arm, this is my blade for close work."

She handled them with ease, appreciation, even affection, which did not help the comfort level of most in the room. She stroked the long blade slowly, Richards thinking to himself, {"that's almost erotic, the way she's touching it!"}.

She continued, "six inch blade, four inch hilt. Notice, where the blade meets the hilt, it's 2 1/2 inches from sharpened side to the flat backside; that backside is 1/4" thick, by the way. Last two inches at the point have that odd tilt, see it there? Cuts thru bone easy as a bone saw."

Above, Chief nodded; he'd cleaned that blade, he knew what she was talking about. She paused and gave a tiny Mona Lisa smile at the Colonel.

He sputtered, "who the hell cares?"

She turned to Major Richards, who, hiding his own smile, said "proceed, most interesting, always eager to learn about different weaponry." His stomach was going to regret that encouragement before long, and his not the only one.

"That night, it was too dark to use the throwing blade, so this was the knife I had ready. See, this is how you hold it, hilt fitting into the heel of the palm, the force comes not from the hand, but up thru the arm and eventually the shoulder and back muscles; thrust per inch is remarkable. Sergeant Major, would you mind if I use you to demonstrate? I promise to be quite careful."

She nodded her appreciation as the Sergeant Major stepped cautiously forward. Still using that slightly abstract, detached voice she had been using since she realized this was necessary, a voice that was sending chills through more than a few, she said, "I made my move from about here," as she stepped about a yard in front of the Brit.

"It's best not to just step in too close to the target, but to give a bit of a pounce forward, bending your knees, so you land just at the right striking distance as your arm starts to thrust forward, and the forward momentum adds even more force to your blow. You need to position yourself, thus, your right shoulder about halfway between your target's right shoulder and the middle of his chest. You want to aim here," as she gently placed the tip of the knife at the Sergeant Major's lower abdomen. His eyes were wide as he looked down, and his breath came a little faster. He met her eyes, starting to understand what she was doing here, and drew a deep breath and tried to relax. 

Meanwhile, the guys in the Common Room were becoming uneasy; Chief had his knife out, trying to visualize what she was showing them in the office below; he placed the point of his knife gently against Casino, tracing the path as she described it. They all were looking a trifle pale by now, watching him, listening to the woman cooly describe, "here, at the lowest outside point on the abdomen where the point of the blade touches the exact place where the pelvic bone and the hip bone meet. You don't make a forward thrust, straight in; that wouldn't accomplish much besides temporarily disabling your target, unless you happened to hit an artery; they could still struggle or call out a warning. Remember, you don't use your wrist to turn the blade, its sheer size prohibits that; you have to have the angle set before you make the strike. No, you lay the blade backwards, where the hilt is actually touching the hip; that way the blade slides in and up; it reaches the full possible depth about here," she illustrated, " toward center, and upward slanting to the left. With the thrust you have built up, you can force the knife onward, ruining everything in in the path, of course, exiting here, under the arm where the ribs move around to the back. Due to the sharpness of the knife, you don't even have to withdraw the knife, it forms its own exit; less chance of breaking it that way, you see. Of course, you leave quite a mess behind on the ground," she gently lectured.

Above, everyone was busy visualizing, and not liking what they were seeing in their minds eye, not one bit; they were rather regretting eating those sandwiches now. 

"That night, that's what would have happened to one of our own men, had I not recognized him in time to avoid it. That was the flaw in the Colonel's plan. I live in this village, I've met the guys many times over, shared a drink at the pub. I recognized Goniff; I may or may not have recognized any of the others in time, I don't know. If it had been Lieutenant Garrison, whom I've seen rarely, I know I wouldn't have known him in time."

She was stressing that point, thinking it better if those who weren't already aware of the ever-growing connection between the Mansion and the Cottage, still remained in the dark. "I'd planned to take the others as they came out of the cave, one by one; the entrance was narrow enough to allow that. They could all have ended up dead that night, most unpleasantly. That is simply unacceptable."

Sergeant Major was looking slightly green, and more than a little relieved that his part in the demonstration was over. Major Richards was looking particularly grim, while the Colonel/lawyer was the most detached, possibly because he didnt really understand, perhaps had never seen death up close, perhaps just because he was a lawyer.

Colonel Pryor sneered. "So, who cares. Good riddance to trash, that's what I say."

Before anyone else could respond, Meghada quietly walked over and looked directly into his eyes. Speaking to him in a slow, gentle, almost caressing voice, " I think you should fix that scene firmly in your mind, Colonel, visualize the exact path of that knife, the resulting damage. We so rarely know what fate has in store for us. Having an idea of our own possible fate, our own vulnerability, might make each of us think, consider our actions a bit more carefully, perhaps."

He started to bluster some more, but then his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened with incredulity. "You're threatening me?? You're actually threatening me??" As he looked into her gentle smile, and her oddly eager eyes, the way she leaned in toward him with slightly parted lips and hastened breath, he paled and took a step backwards. "You're crazy, you little bitch!" He looked over at the Major and shouted, "you heard her, do something."

Major Richards gave a smile, strangely similar to the one on Meghada's face, and said, "calm yourself, Colonel, you've become overly agitated. I didn't hear anyone make any threats, merely a rather interesting point of philosophy, one that has more than a little validity to it. Now, you will be presented with a written list of charges against you; consider yourself under arrest pending review of this case. Sergeant Major, if you will summon the guard."

There was more, more shouting, more explanations, and finally, the departure of everyone except Garrison and Meghada. The Sergeant Major remarked quietly to himself as he watched them make their way up the stairs to the Common Room, "be best off to plead Guilty, 'e would; better to spend 'is time behind bars with a bunch a those cons 'e dislikes so much, rather than spend it with that one on 'is trail. She wasn't just being dramatic; she'd been dead serious." The woman seemed to hear him, for she turned on the stairs and looked down at him, with a smile of thanks, a nod of acknowledgement. He shuddered, and went to get dinner together.

Of course, the whooping and shouting in the Common Room, the grins and hugs awaiting them were a dead giveaway that everyone knew everything that had gone on below; it took some fast talking by Actor to draw away Garrison's suspicions, to protect the secret of the Intercom; better to let him think that one of them had disobeyed orders and eavesdropped outside the door.

Garrison, awhile later, stood talking to his second-in-command, confessing Meghada's little speech to Colonel Pryor had given him the chills. "Maybe we could use her on some missions; she runs a good bluff," he grinned.

Actor wondered how he maintained his naïveté at his age. "Oh, I doubt she was bluffing, Craig."

Garrison looked up at him in shock, and together they looked over at the redhead sitting on the arm of a chair, cautiously smoking a cigarette, looking around with such peace in her face at the men she had claimed as her brothers now - Casino, Chief, Actor. And at Goniff, who was watching her determined efforts with that cigarette, promising grin on his mouth, and a devilish gleam in his eyes. She glanced over at the two men as she felt their gaze, and returned it with a gentle knowing smile.

"No, I don't think she was bluffing at all," Actor said, smiling in return. Craig decided he needed another drink, maybe three.

Unfortunately for them, of course, the Brass intervened, though making sure news of that did NOT make its way back to Richards, the Military lawyer, Garrison or anyone else. Even those members of Friends and Family scattered throughout HQ were unaware. Colonel Pryor was hastened away in all secrecy to another arena, there to continue to do his part for the war effort, but also to brood about the unfairness of it all, promising himself to deal with Garrison, his band of hoods, the woman, AND Major Richards sometime down the road. The day would come when he'd get the opportunity for at least part of that, though whether it would turn out to his advantage or not, well, only time would tell.


End file.
